


“Fuck camping.”

by AutisticWriter



Series: Omovember [3]
Category: Total Drama (Cartoon)
Genre: Camping, Desperation, Ficlet, Gen, Implied Chef Hatchet/Chris McLean, Omorashi, Post-Canon, Prompt Fic, Swearing, Urination, omovember
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-12
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-08-22 19:57:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16604501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AutisticWriter/pseuds/AutisticWriter
Summary: In the night on his first (and last) camping trip, Chris wakes up with a full bladder.[Prompt 3: In the woods]





	“Fuck camping.”

Chris McLean may seem like a stubborn asshole, and, to be honest, he kind of is (without the asshole part, obviously); he’s very stuck in his ways and likes to do things his way. However, there is one exception: Chef.

If Chef Hatchet wants to do something, Chris is always up to try it. He’s not being submissive; he just thinks that, as someone as awesome as him loves Chef, then Chef may have good tastes. And it is for this reason that Chris has gone on vacation to different places than he would normally choose, and has tried different kinky stuff in the bedroom, all because he wants to know what Chef sees in these things.

But, of course, if he fucking hates it, this will also be the last time Chris ever does it. And right now, that is how he feels.

When Chef wanted to go camping, Chris was apprehensive. After all, he remembers the shitty conditions those kids stayed in when he hosted Total Drama, and how he was always grateful he got to stay in his wonderful cottage; honestly, who would want to stay in crap conditions by choice? But Chef wanted to do it, and Chris… just felt an urge to go along with him.

Of course, he underestimated just how shit camping really is. They’ve been here for less than twelve hours, and Chris already fucking hates it. And things only get worse when he awakes at 11:30pm, needing a piss. And, of course, this shithole’s only bathroom is three hundred metres away, outside of the tent.

He doesn’t want to get up, but he knows he can’t lay here for the rest of the night with a full bladder. He eases himself out of his sleeping bag, wincing at the rustling noises that sound so loud in the stillness, and crawls out of the tent. It’s fucking freezing out here, and Chris shivers.

“Fuck camping,” he mutters, wrapping his arms around himself.

He considers getting back into the tent, but a twinge in his bladder won’t let him. He really needs to go; he can’t sleep like this. So Chris sighs and heads off in the direction of the disgusting toilet and shower block, wondering what possesses him to do such weird things for Chef’s sake. You know, he would never admit it, but Chris thinks he might be a sub after all.

Chris wanders through the trees, occasionally passing other tents, the moonlight that peers through the gaps between the trees his only source of light. He only wears flip-flops, and they catch on tree roots and clumps of grass, nearly sending him tumbling to the ground several times.

And as he walks past another tent, something occurs to Chris. The toilet block didn’t seem this far away from their tent when he and Chef brushed their teeth before bed.

Oh shit.

He’s lost, isn’t he?

Oh shit oh shit oh shit.

Chris groans, fighting the urge to scream, and spins around, heading back the way he came. He picks up his pace, not wanting to admit that he’s kind of scared, and his heart races as the pressure inside his bladder increases.

He breaks into an awkward run, but his crappy shoes catch on a root and Chris stumbles, lurching forwards. Tumbling to the ground, Chris breaks his fall with his hands and thankfully doesn’t injure his handsome face, but the jolt of the fall makes his full bladder throb with pain, piss swilling around inside of him. Chris gasps before he can stop himself, and tucks his hand between his legs on some kind of reflex, clenching his muscles to stop himself leaking.

He’s had enough. He may be lost, but he can’t wait any longer. He has to piss, lest he make this shit situation even more humiliating by pissing himself. Chris lurches to his feet, glances around to check nobody else is here, and faces a tree. His bladder straining, Chris pulls himself out of his pants and, aiming, lets himself go.

The relief is amazing, and Chris closes his eyes, lost in the feeling of finally letting go and not caring that he’s pissing in the middle of the woods, freezing cold and lost. But the relief only lasts as long as his stream, and the biting anxiety comes back the moment he tucks himself back into his pants. Of course; he’s still lost.

Now significantly less uncomfortable, Chris continues his fucking ridiculous trek through the woodland, wondering why the fuck this place is so big. He shivers, wishing he put on his coat before he left the tent, and hopes his toes aren’t going to go numb. And he sighs, fucking hating this.

Finally, Chris gets back to the tent. He crawls inside and wriggles into his sleeping bag, curling up in an attempt to warm himself up. And he looks over at Chef, wondering why he’s so devoted to this man – and also vowing to drag Chef home the moment the sun rises.


End file.
